


The Midnight Duel

by MykEsprit



Series: Dramione Delectables [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/M, Genderswap, Humor, Mild Angst, One-Shot, dramione - Freeform, sixth year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: “What’s going on here, Malfoy?” Hermes asked as he stepped between her and Harry.  “Did you have trouble reading the pitch schedule again?  I told you before, you need to sound out the words as you read them, they’ll make much more sense if you hear them out loud.”She turned her molten glare at him.  “Stay out of this, Granger,” she said.  “I still count six goal posts standing in the pitch, so we don’t need your thin, wiry arms standing in today.”  She pinched his right bicep, and he yelped at her sharp grasp.Fem!Draco/m!Hermione





	The Midnight Duel

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine. 
> 
> A/N: A fic requested by ObeliskX: Thank you so much for the prompt! This was incredibly fun to write! :)

Malfoy and Harry were posturing at the center of the Quidditch pitch, their training robes billowing in the gust that whipped the powdery snow.  Their respective teams hovered at their backs; they clutched their brooms and stared down the opposing players. 

He hurried down the stands and made his way to the field as soon as he saw the band of Slytherins sauntering towards the pitch.  As he got closer, he caught the tail end of Malfoy’s cutting remarks.

“—should just give you this time slot, Potter,” she drawled.  “After watching your team play against Ravenclaw two weeks ago, you need every minute of practice you can get.”  She swept her gaze over the huddle of Gryffindors before jeering at Harry again.  “Tell me, have they learned how to tell the difference between the balls yet?”

Malfoy took the ball from Crabbe’s hand and tossed it to Ginny.  “This is called a _Bludger_ ,” she said, stooping slightly to give the redhead a taunting look.  “This is what’s going to be hurtling toward your face during the match tomorrow.  I would say it would bust up your mug, but, honestly, I may not be able to tell the difference either way.”

Ginny pursed her lips, and even from a measurable distance, he could see that it took considerable effort to withhold the tears that suddenly filmed her eyes.

“This one,” Malfoy continued, throwing a red leather ball to Ron and addressing him, “is called a Quaffle.  This is the ball that’s been going over your head.  Like most things people say to you.”

She took a deliberate step in Harry’s personal space, her silver eyes full of malice.  She held the golden, winged ball daintily between her thumb and forefinger.  “This one, Potter, is called the Snitch,” she said, and then tucked the small item in the pocket of her robes.  “I’ll make sure to let you have a better look at it tomorrow.  After I catch it from under your nose.”

Malfoy stood mere inches from Harry’s face, goading him to respond.  Harry’s lips were bordered white as they pressed in a straight line, and his hands were clenched at his sides.  If it was Zabini deriding him – or Nott or Crab or Goyle – Harry would have wasted no time spewing blunt insults, or even swinging a fist to emphasize his point.

As it was _Malfoy_ who mocked him, doing her best to provoke him to action, Harry held his ground – and his silence.  Harry Potter wore many hats, and “Gentleman” was one that he wore often and proudly.

 _He_ , on the other hand, held no such compunction, believing the way one behaves towards others should dictate how he or she should be treated in return.  Draka Malfoy was rude, manipulative, and habitually despicable – and, girl or not, Hermes wouldn’t stand back and let her walk all over his friends.

“What’s going on here, Malfoy?” Hermes asked as he stepped between her and Harry.  “Did you have trouble reading the pitch schedule again?  I told you before, you need to sound out the words as you read them, they’ll make much more sense if you hear them out loud.”

She turned her molten glare at him.  “Stay out of this, Granger,” she said.  “I still count six goal posts standing in the pitch, so we don’t need your thin, wiry arms standing in today.”  She pinched his right bicep, and he yelped at her sharp grasp.

Hermes rubbed the sore patch of skin and scowled at her.  “According to Madame Hooch’s schedule, we have the field until half past.  _Kindly_ evacuate the area until then.”

She must have heard the silent, “or else,” in the statement, because her cerise lips curled up in a wicked smirk.  “What are you going to do, Granger?  Run to Madame Hooch and tell her that your poor ickle feelings were hurt by the big, bad Slytherins?”

He glowered down at her.  “Yes, actually,” he said.  “Should there be any misunderstandings regarding the Quidditch pitch schedule, that’s exactly the protocol to follow.  So, yeah, I guess I’ll go and let her know.”

Hermes turned his back on her and started walking off.  After a few steps, he heard an unimpressed scoff.  “Typical _Mudblood_ ,” said Malfoy.  “Hiding behind rules and _protocols_ because he’s not wizard enough to take on a Pureblood with his own trifling magic.”

He halted at her insult, his immediate rage locking up his muscles.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  When he counted to ten and reassessed his feelings – still a bit murder-y – he pivoted and marched back to the blonde Slytherin. 

Her predatory smile grew as he returned.  Hermes couldn’t help but think that regardless of what he did in this scenario, she would count this one as a ‘win.’

With an internal shrug, he forged on.  “I don’t need to hide behind anything, Malfoy.  I _know_ that I’m better than you at magic.  I’ve got the scores to prove it.”

“Classroom scores,” she jeered, rolling her eyes.  “Hasn’t anyone told you that they don’t really translate to real life?  You may do well in school, but once you’re outside these walls, that means nothing.”  She stood so close that he could see the flecks of pewter in her eyes.  “Whenever you leave Hogwarts, you go back to your family and live like a fucking _Muggle_ , just like you did before you ever came here.”

Malfoy took his red-and-gold tie in her hands, straightening the knot as she lowered her voice.  “Me, on the other hand?  There hasn’t been a single _second_ of my life when I haven’t been surrounded by magic.  And that kind of exposure seeps into the bones.  Into the blood.”

He yanked his tie out of her grasp and snarled.  “I’ve got more magic in my thumbnail than you’ve got in your whole body.”

“Oh, yeah?” she said.  “Prove it.  Meet me here, and we’ll duel.  Midnight.  No seconds.  Just you and me.”  Malfoy arched a manicured blonde eyebrow in challenge. 

Hermes glanced at his fellow Gryffindors.  Harry silently pleaded with him to not take the bait, while the others simply swiveled their heads between him and Malfoy, unsure who would fold first. 

He filled his chest with cold air and fixed Malfoy with a hard, steady gaze.  “Done.”

ooO0Ooo

“Are you sure you want to do this, mate?” asked Ron.

He and Harry sat on the trunk at the foot of Hermes’ bed, having spent the better part of an hour trying to talk him out of the duel.

“We all know Malfoy’s a right bitch,” Ron continued.  “You don’t have to stoop down to her level to prove anything to anyone.”

Hermes paced the dormitory, wand in hand, and practiced his flourishes.

“And dueling is against school rules,” Harry reminded him, probably realizing this would be the best approach.  “If you get caught by Filch or any of the teachers, you might get into some serious trouble.”

Hermes hesitated for a moment, his eyebrows creasing together.  “I know, Harry,” he said.  “But if I back out now, you know Malfoy’s never going to let me live it down.  There’s still several months left of the term, and I don’t fancy having to deal with her superiority.”  He frowned.  “Well, any _more_ of her superiority.”

He plucked his thick winter cloak from where it hung off the poster of his bed and threw it over his shoulders.  “Besides, someone’s got to teach her that any Muggle-born is just as good as a Pureblood.”

Ron jabbed his arm with a good-humored punch.  “You’re not just _any_ Muggle-born, mate.  You’re the top of our class.”

He blew out a steady breath.  “Exactly.  I’ve earned the top marks in Charms since first year.  There’s absolutely no way Malfoy can best me in a duel.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Harry warned.  “She’s still a Slytherin, and a Death Eater’s daughter to boot.  She’s bound to have something up her sleeve.  Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?  One of us can follow under the Invisibility Cloak—"

Hermes shook his head, his face grim with determination.  “No.  I’ve got to do this myself.”

Ron and Harry shared a loaded glance before turning back to face him, their expressions morose.  Harry tossed him his wool scarf.  “All right, mate.  Just be careful.”

ooO0Ooo

The full moon shone like a torch on the Quidditch pitch, illuminating everything with a silver gleam.  Malfoy was already waiting on the field, wearing a plain, black cloak that covered her entire body like a tent.  The parts of her that he could see – her face, hands, and long, straight hair – were washed out in the moonlight, making her look like an apparition.

A corner of her lip turned up as he advanced towards her.  “You came,” she purred.  “I didn’t think you would.”  She glanced around.  “You’re alone?  Twiddledum and Twiddledum-arse didn’t come along to watch?”

“No, it’s just me,” he said.  “You?  Are there any Slytherins hiding in the stands, waiting for your signal to take me down?”

A glint of something akin to mischief flashed in her eyes.  “I won’t need anyone’s help getting you on your back.”

He frowned.  “Let’s get this over with, Malfoy.”

She tutted as she strolled over to him.  “Eager, are we?”

Malfoy met him in the middle of the field.  Keeping her eyes on his, she slipped her oversized robe off her shoulders and revealed what she wore underneath.

Or, more accurately, what she was _barely_ wearing.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy!” said Hermes, turning his head to the side in a chivalrous attempt not to gawk at her figure.  “What do you think you’re playing at?!”

“What do you mean, Granger?” she asked, the impishness in her voice belying her saccharine tone.

“What the hell is _that_?”  He waved his free hand over her ensemble.

“This old thing?”  She ran her hands over her outfit.  From his brief glance, he could tell that she wore a suit made from fine Dragonhide.

It was only an afterthought, however, as his adolescent male vision had zoned in on the leather’s snug fit over Malfoy’s rather generous chest.  Her ivory skin peeped from the strategic cutouts of her top.

“This is my dueling outfit,” she continued.  Hermes tried very hard to keep his eyes above her collar.  “Don’t tell me you’re fighting me in your _Muggle_ clothes.”  She reached out and ran the pad of a finger over the jumper peeking out underneath his cloak.  “This won’t be able to withstand my wandfire.  It will get absolutely tattered.”

Hermes gulped involuntarily as she touched him.  He cleared his throat.  “Let’s finish this.  I don’t care to be found out by any of the teachers on patrol.”

“All right,” she murmured.

“Standard rules?”

Malfoy tilted her head and smirked.  “First one to disarm their opponent wins.”

He agreed.  They went through the motions of salutation for civility’s sake, and moments later, they stood on opposite sides of the field.

Hermes held his wand arm out, taking a defensive stance.  From what he remembered from Duelling Club, she could conjure a mean _Serpensortia_ , and he readied for that spell as her first move.

“ _Anteoculatia_!” yelled Malfoy.

The Horn-growing Hex threw him by surprise, and his _Protego_ was almost too late to block it.

“ _Impedimenta_!” he countered. 

She easily parried, not needing a shield charm.  She sent a Jelly-Legs Jinx his way, which bounced off another protective spell.

They traded several more spells – hexes, on Malfoy’s part, which meant that Hermes threw up more defensive shields than offensive attacks.  She lithely sidestepped his assaults, coming closer and closer to him with every volley.

When she was only a few meters away, she hunkered her shoulders and ran at him as if going for a tackle.  She yelled out, “ _Filipendo_!”

Bracing himself for her physical attack, Hermes didn’t anticipate her magical one.  The Knockback Jinx caught him at the center of his chest.  He flew a short distance through the cold air and landed on his back on the soft bank of snow.

Before he could scramble up, Malfoy sprang on top of him, jabbing a knee into his solar plexus.

His muscles seized up as air whooshed out of his chest, and, for a few frantic moments, his mind struggled to remember how to breathe. 

When, at last, he inhaled a shaky lungful of oxygen, he noticed that Malfoy still straddled him.  She dangled something in her hands, and it was another minute before he realized it was his vine wood wand.

“Mal—” he wheezed, “—foy!  Wh—What—You—” he strained as a coughing bout wracked his body, “bloody _cheat_!”

She answered with a coy smile as she shifted on top of him.

Hermes tried to snatch his wand out of her grasp, but she suspended it just out of his reach.  “This is a _magical duel_!  Why the hell did you jump me?!”

“We never _said_ physical attacks weren’t allowed,” she said, matter-of-factly.  “We just agreed that whoever disarms the other wins.”  She twirled his wand between her fingers.  “And it looks like I just won.”

“That’s not what I agreed to, and you know it,” he snarled.  He tried to push her off, but she perched her weight just above his hips, pinning him in place.  He sighed.  “All right, get off.”

“Trying,” she murmured as she shifted on top of him again.  Her wicked smile widened as a mortified grimace took root on his face.

He sputtered as he tried to shove her away.  “Wha— _get the hell off me_!”

She laughed at his embarrassment, managing to stay on as he tried to buck her off his body.  “Oh, relax, Granger!  I’m not serious.  Gods, how are you such a prude?”

Hermes groaned, his limbs flopping down on the snow in defeat.  She smiled down at him in triumph.

“That’s it, Granger,” she cooed as she leaned down to thread her fingers through his short, curly hair.  “Just give up.  At least, we can definitively agree that I’ve bested you in a match.”

He swatted her hands away.  “You _kneed_ me in the _gut_.  That hardly makes you a better dueler.”

“I’m willing to use everything in my arsenal to win, so that makes me a _smarter_ dueler.”  Malfoy shrugged and gestured to her torso.  “You think I squeezed into this suit because it’s _comfortable_?”

His eyes trailed her motion and glued onto the ample mounds straining underneath the dark green leather.  She cleared her throat.

He lifted his eyes and met her amused gaze.  “Maybe not such a prude, after all,” she said with a sly smile.

Despite the frosty ground, he felt heat permeate his body – though whether from embarrassment or something else, he couldn’t quite determine.

Perhaps sensing his ambivalence, Malfoy leaned forward once more – only this time, as she combed her fingers through his hair, she bent her head down and pressed her soft lips at the angle of his jaw.  She planted warm kisses along the sensitive skin under his earlobe; once again, he found it difficult to breathe, though for a much different reason.

Eventually, her lips found his, which were slightly dry from the crisp night air.  She captured his bottom lip and gently sucked.

For an instant, Hermes was lost in the sensation.  When her icy fingers pressed against the skin underneath his jumper, he was startled back to reality.  He wrenched his face away from her.

“What are we doing?” he asked, his voice rumbling at the back of his throat.

“What does it look like?” she snapped as she yanked at the hem of his jumper to expose more of his skin to the frigid atmosphere.  “Really, Granger, brightest wizard of our age and all –”

He grumbled.  “I know what we’re doing – well, I know what _you’re_ trying to do – but, _why_?”

Malfoy paused.  Her voice sounded nonchalant as she asked, “Why not?”  Her eyes, however, hardened to steel, and she jutted her chin in defiance.  The crease between her eyebrows and her downturned lips cooled his lingering hormones.

He propped himself up on his elbows; this time, she let him up, shifting her weight lower on his body.

“What’s this really about?” he asked.

“Nothing you would understand, Mudblood.”  Her low tone held profound wretchedness.  In the six years he had known her, Hermes had never heard Malfoy sound so vulnerable; he let the slur pass without comment.

A cloud of white vapors puffed out of his mouth as he sighed.  “I’m quite literally your captive audience,” he said as he held her gaze.  “So, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Malfoy shifted to her feet, about to stand.  “It’s none of your fucking busine—” She gasped – a sharp, abrupt sound.

Hermes had grabbed her to keep her from moving away.  Her eyes fell to where he wrapped his long fingers around her left forearm; her lips twitched in revulsion as she glared at where they connected.

As understanding dawned on him, his fingers involuntarily tightened around her.

“He’s Marked you,” he said.  “You’re one of _them_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She tried to pull away, but his grip remained firm.  He pushed her sleeve up to her elbow.

Hermes gaped at the Dark Mark that defaced her pale skin.

He heaved a sigh.  “You’re his now,” he whispered.

Malfoy jerked her arm away from his grasp.  “I’m my own woman,” she said forcefully.  “I don’t belong to _anyone_.”

He looked at her with pity.  She shoved him down with her right arm as she held her left one against her chest, as if cradling an injury.  “Don’t you _dare_ feel sorry for me, Granger.  I can still do whatever I want.  Go wherever I want.”  She dug her fingers in the material of his jumper.  “ _Fuck_ whoever I want.”

She glowered down at him, her eyes callous and cruel.  Gone was the playful, mischievous girl who, just minutes before, had kissed him with such surprising enthusiasm.  Hermes found himself wanting to draw her out again.

He opened his mouth, unsure of the right words to say to her – Voldemort’s reluctant recruit.  Finally, he said, “You always have a choice, Malfoy.  No matter what situation you fall into, there’s always a way out.  There’s always someone willing to help, if you decide to change your mind.”

They stared at each other as the weight of his words – and the implicit encouragement to confide in him – settled in the air between them.

This time, when she leaned toward him, he met her halfway. 

ooO0Ooo

Hermes wasn’t sure how long they stayed out, but his frozen toes indicated that quite some time had passed.

Then again, perhaps his extremities were cold because his blood had been shunted to more demanding parts of his body.

They had just separated from a prolonged embrace and were now lying on their backs – still fully clothed, though Hermes wouldn’t deny that his hands wandered under her Dragonhide top from time to time.

As he worked to control his breathing, Malfoy laughed softly beside him.

She got up on her knees.  The grin she gave him was open and genuine, lacking the malice that usually colored her otherwise pretty smile.  Hermes sat up and reached out to touch her rosy cheek.  She caught his hand and placed a light kiss on the inside of his wrist.

“We should duel more often, Granger,” she said.

He chuckled.  “Sure.  Maybe next time, we can do it somewhere warmer, perhaps with shelter from the elements?”

Malfoy nodded and hummed sympathetically.  “Yes, next time, definitely indoors.  I’m already a bit hesitant to leave you out here tonight.”

“It’s quite all – wait.  What?”

She stood up and muttered something under her breath.  He tried to follow suit, but he found that his legs had stuck to the ground.  He tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t peel his arse from where it was fixed on the snowbank.

“Malfoy!  What the hell?!”

She gave him an apologetic wince.  “Sorry, Granger – but, both our houses know that we’ve come out here to duel.  I told everyone in Slytherin that when I win, I’d leave you out here in the cold until the Quidditch match.  And, well.” She waved his wand at him before shoving it under her sleeve.

“You can _not_ be serious,” he said, slowly.

Malfoy shrugged and kneeled once again to meet him at eye level.  “Don’t worry, it’s probably only a few more hours until dawn.  I’m sure Madame Hooch will come down soon to set up for the match.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as she flourished her wand over him.  A comfortable warmth spread over his entire body.

“There,” she said, sounding satisfied.  She threw her shapeless black cloak over her shoulders.  “That heating spell should hold well after someone finds you in the morning.  Wouldn’t want any naughty bits falling off in the cold.  Not until I’ve seen everything, anyway.”  She winked at him.

She was already wandering off when he found his voice again.

“Malfoy!”

She returned to him without hesitation.

“You’re really leaving me without a wand?  This is _Hogwarts_ ,” he said.  “What if something tries to attack me?”

She looked around and then bent down to gather a fistful of snow.  “If something tries to come for you, just throw one of these.” She packed the snow between her palms and placed it in his hand.  “Use those big, strong arms to scare the monsters away,” she said as she pinched his bicep.  He squeaked at her sharp tweak.

“I’ll give your wand back before the match.  Won’t want any extra weight when I fly against Potter tomorrow.  Not that he can outfly me, in any case.”  Malfoy pecked the top of his head.  “Sleep well, Granger.  See you in the morning.”

She ambled off, humming a nameless tune that dissipated in the air as she vanished into the castle.

Hermes looked around the pitch, his senses suddenly heightened as he took in his surroundings for the first time.  The wind howled through the stands, and, in the not-so-distant forest, the animals called out to each other.

He tried to pull his lower limbs off the ground once more; no luck.  He sighed and lied back down on the ground, his snowball clutched protectively over his chest.

The sky was clear, and despite the brightness of the moon, he could still make out the stars.  High in the sky, Draco’s serpentine figure twinkled down and kept him company until dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Yes, I’m still taking fic requests...as long as you’re willing to wait a few weeks for me to fulfill your request while I try to get back to a regular writing schedule :) “Ask” me on Tumblr: mykesprit.tumblr.com 
> 
> Comments/Kudos are greatly appreciated!


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